The Eternal Fate of Jacob Marley
by Emrys Merlin1
Summary: The untold story of how Jacob Marley became a ghost. When Jacob is asked by the demon Krampus to help him steal the staff of Father Christmas, Jacob is flung headfirst into an unpredictable world of myth and folklore. Little does he know that his perpetual doom is near. A dark fantasy of twists and turns.
1. The Letter

Chapter One: The Letter

Marley was alive as the blazing sun. He stood six feet tall—a giant among Victorian gentry. His coat which flowed down to his knees jungled with the coins of his many debtors. His fresh face was twenty years old. He had received the finest apprenticeship a Londoner could ask for—from Old Fezziwig himself. And after that, he had worked for a man who's love of steel laid the groundwork for the Industrial Revolution.

He was in full health. He lived in a mansion on a hill in the center of London that dwarfed that of the Lord Mayer himself. He had exceptional income from his daily trade—money lending—as well as from the rooms in his house that he lent out as offices.

He had no lack of wine or warmth or women. His top hat had the finest sheen. He had his whole life ahead of him—or so he thought. So once again I proclaim it; Marley as alive as the blazing sun. The must be distinctively understood, or nothing dreadful can come of the story which I am about to relate.

One week before his great catastrophe, Jacob Marley sat in his counting house with his business partner and clerk. In had been a long day of cheating widows and orphans. He and Ebenezer were exhausted both. They sipped on cool wine an hour before closing time.

"Times they are exchanging, Jacob. More factories are being built. London's got more smoke than ever. I miss the peace and quiet."

"It just goes to show that these idiots have little to complain about. They cry to use for mercy. They haven't the skill to go to work."

"The skill…or the inclination."

They partners laughed. And the hapless clerk kept to himself behind his desk.

It was seven days before the celebration of the birth of Christ. In truth, the historical rabbi of Nazareth had been born in the spring, not winter. Christmas was once Saturnalia: The birth of the old gods Mithra and Zeus. It was for this reason-and for the drunkenness and gluttony—that the puritans despised the holiday so.

That night, Marley shared a dinner with Ebenezer in the old rundown tavern. They sat in the presence of the plebeians with the air of superiority. Afterward, he made his way to his lonely mansion.

It was a misty night, with a crescent moon not quite visible. Jacob could hardly see the ground at his feet. How then, pray tell me, was he able to see the brown piece of parchment on his doorstep? It shown with a pale light that caught his eye quickly.

Jacob was not a cautious man—not in those days. He bent down and scooped it up. It was folded like a letter. Unfolding it, he found the reddest ink he had e'er seen.

_My Dear Sir Jacob Marley,_

_I have admired you from afar for many years now for your cunning and ambition. It is my wish to do business with you. If you are wise and clever, I can promise you untold riches that shall cling to you forever._

_This is the season of Yule—when the unsuperstitious are most open to the lore of the ancient past; be it Christian or Other. Carry that spirit with you when you meet me tonight at the stoke of twelve on the edge of Forest of Broceliande. I shall reveal all details to you then and there._

_Until then, fare thee well,_

_High Lord Krampus of the Yule_

Jacob had to read the letter three or four times to fully understand it. The Forest of Broceliande was only a twenty-minute walk away. To go there, he would have to travel through the poor part of London. Jacob did not like that. He also did not like recicing letters from unknown sources. He had never heard of a "High Lord Krampus" before. The name sounded barbaric and German. He vaguely remembered that according to legend, the Forest of Broceliande was where the great wizard Merlin met his downfall.

Jacob let the letter go. The pale wind carried it off a few feet, where it dissolved into snowflakes This shocked Jacob. The letter had physical transformed—before his waking eyes—into tiny white articles that fell to the ground. Such a feat was impossible!

Truth be told, it scared the dickens out of him.

And that was the moment that Jacob decided that he would go meet this Krampus, whoever he was. Or whatever he was.


	2. Meeting the Demon

Chapter Two: Meeting the Demon

Eleven o'clock at night alone in the poor side of London is not a wise decision. The poor are often violent—not by nature, but by necessity. And nothing screams "Target!" quite like a gold pocket watch and a silver cane. Jacob Marley was clearly out of his element.

He made his way just fine. He got a few stares, a few glares… A few open palms for coins… A few burley men stalking towards him. But he was quick to dart in the shadows, and to speed up his face, and to brandish his cane proudly.

Jacob once beat a boy half to death for pickpocketing him on the street. The boy was a ne'er to well in rags. No one had said a word, though Jacob had beaten him in broad daylight in front of dozens. I bring this up to say that Jacob was well versed in the art of defending his own. A bit of blood still stuck on his silver cane. Perhaps his would-be muggers spotted it. Perhaps they did not. But whatever the case, they never touched him.

It would have been far better for Jacob Marley had he killed right then and there before reaching the forest's edge.

The trees outlining the Forest of Broceliande were thick with gnarled branches. Jacob spotted a few squirrels and rabbits. He could not tell if they were scurrying away from him, or from the owls.

Jacob stood alone for five minutes. Then he leaned against an oak. He had some time before midnight. He had nothing to do but wait. He was just happy to be out of the presence of the street dwellers.

The snowfall was light; graceful; handsome. As destitute as the outskirts of London were, the white flakes gave them a romantic look. Jacob noticed in that moment how Nature could be cold and beautiful at the same time.

And in that moment, a lone figure approached him from beyond the forest. Jacob heard the footsteps first. They resembled hoofbeats, though there were only two—not four. They strode, not galloped. The figure was tall, thick, and black. Horns sprang and curled from the top of its head. It wore no vestments, save the black hairs on its body. Its entire body glowed black in a manner that highlighted its form, rather than obscured it.

Just as the creature reached Jacob, the giant clock of London struck twelve. Jacob heard it even as far away as he was. Twelve long chimes filled the air. During this time, the beast casually held up a wooden pipe and lifted it to his lips. The pipe turned red hot and grey smoke trickled up.

At last the chiming ceased. The creature casually asked, "Do you smoke?"

Jacob was startled, but not horrified. He was too intrigued to be afraid. A wiser man would have been paralyzed with fear, but not him.

"What?" Jacob asked.

"Do you smoke?"

"Not regularly."

"Ah, I have a second pipe if you're interested."

The beast had a deep baritone voice, not unfit for the opera. It had a wry humor about it. Jacob had learned long ago that confidence is quiet. The most powerful man in any room is the man who never feels the need to be the loudest voice in the room. With this in mind, this creature was quite confident indeed.

"Who and what are you?" Jacob asked, trying to match the beast's confidence.

"Not an easy question, I'm afraid. I've taken so many forms and names over the centuries."

"You called yourself Krampus in your letter."

"Ah, that's right. Much thanks for reminding me." Krampus took another puff. "I am the living personification of the winter season. I am the cold, and the wind, and the snow. I am the pain of frostbite and the fear of death. Though, not Death itself mind you. But I know Death fondly."

Jacob nodded, not understanding much of this.

"Nature is alive, you see. Every aspect of it. Every drop of water. Every leaf on every tree. Every gust of wind. Every movement of every planet. It's all alive, in one way or another."

"How is that possible?" Jacob interrupted, at once fearing his own rudeness. But Krampus showed infinite patience.

"God created everything. Everything has the spark of divinity within it."

"You sir are speaking to a functional atheist. I stopped caring for God when I turned twelve. I haven't stepped foot in a church since… I don't know when."

"Then just take my word for it—everything is a part of God. Even me. And I am the harshness of the winter season. The ancient folk depicted me in their drawings as a horned demon, so that is how I come to you now. But I suppose I could have come to you in any shape. I could have been a rock, or a beam of light. I could have even appeared to you as an alluring woman." Krampus paused and looked at him quizzically. "Would you prefer that?"

Jacob answered coldly, "I use women for amusement, not business."

Krampus nodded. "Then let's not beat around the bush. I've a job for you." He took another puff. "Understand this: All things in nature have their balance. Good must have its evil. Light must have its darkness. Warmth must have its cold. Prey must have its predator. And I must have my counterpart…Father Christmas."

"Father Christmas?"

"Understand this: He and I are but two sides of the same coin. But as the personification of the harshness of winter, I have my priorities. I want him dead. Destroyed. Completely and utterly eradicated. Father Christmas brings love and joy and merriment and a whole host of splendid things to the children of God each Yule. I hate him and I hate the products of his labor."

Krampus growled and scraped a hoof against the snowy dirt. "Ever since Emperor Constantine sanctified Christianity—named it the official religion of Rome—Father Christmas has worked tirelessly—ceaselessly—to do God's work. Once upon a time, people feared me. Now they look forward to the season of Yule each year—partially because it spells the time of his arrival."

"What the hell does any of this have to do with me?" Jacob asked.

"Everything. I need a mortal man shrewd and cold. I need you to help me kill him. He is in current possession of an oaken staff once carved by Odin the Nordic All-Father. I need that staff stolen from him and brought to me. I have chosen you for this task. Find him, befriend him, earn his confidence, steal his trust. And when his wisdom fails him, steals his staff."

"Odin the All-Father!" Jacob cried. "You talk to me of just one God, and now of Odin?"

"I'm not asking you to make sense of this. I'm just asking you to help me," Krampus said.

Jacob shook his head and smiled from frustration. "If you want my help, help me understand this."

"All myths have power as long as people believe in them. And all myths contain a shred of reality within them."

"I believe in Father Christmas even less than I believe in Odin. He's a tale for children."

"Yes. And you will find him tomorrow morning with a whole host of children in the churchyard."

"Which church. There are three of them near me."

"Pick one. All of them make a point to entertain children during Christmastime. All of them are the same."

"Yes, but how can Father Christmas be three places at once?"

"How can a rainstorm fall on multiple people at once? All rainclouds form one storm, though they take up different places."

This hurt Jacob's head. He rubbed his forehead and groaned. Krampus laughed. "Don't trouble yourself. You humans think in very literal terms. All you have to know is this: Odin's staff contains great power. Power enough to pierce his essence."

"If that's true then how come he doesn't go ahead and kill you? Surely he hates you as much as you hate him?"

"Oh, come now Jacob. You're a fine man of business. You know well that good people are just naïve. Good people are too nice to make the harsh decisions that run the world. Entities like you and I know well that in matters of life and death, morality is of no value."

"It's true."

"See, you and I are not so different, you and I. It's why I chose you. Bring me the staff, and in return, I will grant you more riches than you have wit to imagine. And I guarantee that you will be in possession of them forever."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Forever? I remember you mentioning that in your letter. But need

I remind you? Unlike you, I am mortal, and will one day die."

"I told you mortal, I know the Angel of Death fondly. I have Death's personal promise that whatever riches you gain from me, you shall carry them into eternity."

No sooner had Krampus spoke these words than a vision of white light swirled before Jacob's eyes. In the midst of the white light glided forth a slender specter, wearing nothing save a light gray shroud. A hood covered the specter's head. Its hands and legs were unseen. Jacob assumed this was none other than Death.

The specter gave a curt nod, validating Krampus' words. Then a flurry of gold coins flew out too Jacob. In an instant they turns green and gold and blue and red. He winced and jumped back. When he reopened his eyes he found himself alone with Krampus once more.

"I offer you mortal, an entire array of sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and gold. I will open up the earth for you an have it yield up all its metals to your coffers."

Krampus extended his arm. Jacob hesitated for just a moment. He had many more questions, but he had seen enough to excite him. He clasped Krampus' wrist and shook it happily.

"My Dear Sir Jacob Marley, this shall be the Advent of a beautiful friendship."

And Jacob was so mystified by the promise of eternal wealth, he did not even pick up on the pun.


End file.
